Shattered Pack

by Erin, Aileen;

  “But gran’s dishes are no longer with us,” Ian said in a reverent tone.

  Another laugh from Donovan. I was liking this Ian guy. At least he was able to cheer Donovan up. And this girl was my speed. Breaking dishes? Not bad at all.

  “I can tell that the pack is in chaos from our bonds, but how has everyone been fairing lately?” Donovan asked.

  “It’s been a rough go. Those bloody Americans—”

  I cleared my throat. I was okay sitting back while they caught up, but I wasn’t going to let Ian bash me and my friends.

  “Sorry.”

  “We did what we had to.” I couldn’t apologize for what happened. Even if Ian was friendly toward me, I was new. If I started apologizing for my actions and defending myself, then it would set me up in a subordinate position. Until I had a solid place in the pack, I couldn’t let that happen.

  Plus, as far as I knew, there wasn’t any way to turn back time. Not with bruja or fey magic, and definitely not with anything the packs had. What was done was done, and everyone was going to have to learn to live in the present. Apologizing for it now wouldn’t change a thing.

  I caught Ian’s gaze in the review mirror before he glanced away. “That may be so, but you’ve managed to flip our world upside down. It’s a bit difficult since we didn’t have time to prepare.”

  “But you knew it was going to happen soon,” Donovan said. “I’d been preparing the pack for years—”

  “You know us. We think nothing’s going to change. Thought all that nonsense about coming out of hiding was just a bunch of talk.”

  I snorted, and Donovan shot me a look.

  I wasn’t making this any easier. “You might live out in the country, but not all packs do. If we hadn’t gotten caught on tape, someone else would’ve. And you can bet your ass they would’ve been doing something that made us look much worse than fighting a blood-hungry witch and her demon minions.”

  “Aye. You’re probably right. It’s just hard to come to terms with. A lot has changed for us old wolves.”

  “Hmm.” It was impossible to know how old Ian was from his appearance, but even since I’d been alive, the world had gotten closer to science fiction than most could’ve imagined.

  Don’t let Ian get to you. He’s cranky about everything, but he’ll get over it, Donovan said through the bond.

  He’s not the only one who’s going to be mad about the “bloody Americans.”

  “You’re not wrong.” You sure you don’t want to go back home? It’s not too late. I can call the back-up pilot and have the plane readied.

  No! Your mess is mine. I’m in. No backing out now.

  Ian coughed, interrupting our conversation. “I’m sorry, but it seems like you’re talking through your bond?”

  “Yes.”

  “But that means—”

  “Yes.”

  “Feck. I’m going to have to call Killian and see if he’ll let me change my bet. This is going to get very interesting, very fast.”

  “I imagine it will,” Donovan said. “And I’d advise not betting against my true mate.”

  Ian started rambling in Irish, and I leaned my head against the window’s cool glass, staring out at the green countryside as we left Dublin. Something brushed against my knee. Donovan was reaching back for me. I grasped his hand.

  Flashing lights caught my eyes as I looked toward a row of flats. “What’s going on there?”

  Ian spared a quick glance where I pointed. “Ehm. That’s the garda. Or police to you Americans. They’ve been out in force the past few days. There was some heist at one of the museums. Humans are off their rockers about it.”

  “What was taken?” Donovan asked.

  Ian scoffed. “Not much to talk about. Celtic trinkets or some such things. A few pictures were in the paper, but nothing looked to be worth much. Just nostalgia mostly. I believe it’s the principle rather than the monetary worth bothering them. The humans are knocking door to door. Odd business.”

  That did seem odd. Maybe their museum security wasn’t great, but didn’t they have any suspects to narrow down their search? “Looks like you Irish need to up your detective skills.”

  “What on it? You gonna join the garda and help ‘em out?”

  I laughed. “Why not? Sounds like fun.”

  Ian and I went a few rounds, ending up laughing. After a while, the chatter died down, and my eyes grew heavy. The jet lag was catching up to me.

  Go ahead. Sleep.

  How long is the drive?

  Over an hour.

  Oh, yeah. A nap was definitely in order. Wake me up before we get there? I was going to need a clear head.

  Of course. Dream of me, he said as I started to drift off.

  Always. These days Donovan was a constant in my mind, even in sleep. I didn’t mind it one bit.

  Chapter Nine

  The gates to the Irish pack’s stronghold held a white crest with two black wolves howling back to back and a golden sword running between them. The gravel road was narrow but even, and greenery brushed against the sides of the car. The path curved, sometimes sharply, to hide the stronghold from the main road. If unexpected visitors got past the front gate, the pack would have plenty of time to prepare for them. As we got further onto pack land, the forest opened up.

  Whoever tended the castle grounds did an amazing job. The manicured grass was the most vibrant emerald color I’d ever seen. I undid my seatbelt and leaned forward, scooting to peek between the front seats. The castle was huge. If it were in America, it would take up five city blocks, easy. Windows cut through the gray stone, and turrets and towers rose up into the sky. The tallest one held two flags—an Irish flag and one bearing the same crest that covered the front gates.

  “It’s massive.”

  “Just what every man loves to hear,” Ian said.

  I shoved his shoulder, and the car jerked to the side for a second. “But really. It’s not all original, is it?”

  “No,” Donovan said. “I’ve added on to it over time as the pack grew. I like to have double the rooms that are needed. That way there’s more than enough places to go when we’re not getting along, and enough room for the pack to grow—although it hasn’t in some time—with plenty of space left for guests. Being on the Council means I have visitors often, so we’re set up for that, with a full staff.”

  “It’s like your own personal Downton Abbey.”

  Donovan shrugged. “In a way. Only we’re pack, not aristos.”

  “So, worse than Downton?”

  “What are you two going on about?” Ian said.

  I gasped. “You don’t know Downton Abbey?”

  “Should I?”

  I gave him my best pitying look as I patted his shoulder, much more softly than last time. “You poor thing. Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay. I’ll show you all the fun things from the modern world.”

  Ian shook his head. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, Dono.”

  We grew quiet as we pulled up around the circular drive, stopping in front of the massive entrance. What had to be the whole pack waited outside, lined up perfectly. There were maybe few hundred Weres, most of them men.

  “Vivian should be here,” Ian said, murmured. “I’ll go find her.”

  Donovan gripped his shoulder before he could leave. “Don’t bother. I’ll have a word with her later.”

  Vivian was breaking protocol left and right. That so wasn’t going to work for me. Once I got a feel for her, maybe I could challenge her on breach of etiquette? It wouldn’t be enough to get her killed, but she’d be reprimanded. And the sting of a public scolding might goad her into giving us proof of her madness. It was a long shot, but I wasn’t ruling anything out.

  A Were started unloading our luggage from the car, and Ian motioned us forward. “I’ll take you to John’s room. We’ve left the scene as is. You’ll see why when we get there.”

  Weres were all about burning bodies right away. We didn’t want humans
coming across remains, and until recently, explaining hadn’t been an option. The scene must’ve been really bad in order to leave a body where it laid, even in the pack stronghold.

  Donovan went over to the waiting Weres, but I hung back. The greeting was a pack thing to restore and renew bonds. I leaned back against the car as the gathered Weres knelt in front of Donovan. He walked down the line, touching each shoulder in turn and renewing their bonds. Every time he tapped someone the power of the Irish pack tingled along my skin on its way past. From the outside, it looked like they all agreed that Donovan was their Alpha. They might not like that he was gone a lot, and judging from the hostile scowls I was getting from some of them, they might not like me. But Donovan was the Irish pack’s Alpha.

  When they were done, I stood straight, expecting at least some of them to come say hello. But no one did.

  Interesting. It might not have been an openly hostile move, but it was definitely a snub. I guessed I’d have to be the one to make the first move, but I wasn’t doing that yet. I had to figure out who I should approach first. Approaching the right person could get me ahead quicker in the pack.

  Donovan strode to me with Ian tagging along behind him. “Ready.”

  “Yup.” To be honest, I was really looking forward to seeing the inside of the stronghold, and I wasn’t disappointed. A portrait of Donovan in a kilt with a broadsword hung over a massive fireplace off to the right of the entryway.

  “Sexy,” I muttered softly as we walked past it and through a corridor. Donovan shot me a wink and a grin.

  Tapestries lined the hallways, depicting scenes throughout history. Some were faded in color, but other than that, they were beautiful. The floors were bare stone, which was best for Weres. When a bunch of us lived together, a fight was never too far away. Blood was much easier to clean off stone than carpet. And judging from the faded scents of fights, they’d done just that time and again. As I was picking out scents, one note kept coming back to me, drawing my attention away from everything else. It was really floral. I took a deeper whiff and caught even more threads of floral notes. “The fey come here often?”

  “The Lunar court is very close to this pack,” Ian said. “We’ve had children between us. Some have been more Were and joined the pack. They tend to scent a little floral. But yes, there are fey who wander our halls regularly.”

  “Vivian said that it was probably a fey that killed John. Anyone—”

  “You’ll not start a witch hunt.” Ian spat the words out.

  I held up my hands. “I wasn’t trying to offend anyone. I was just going to say that maybe the fey responsible might have been here before. Maybe someone might recognize their scent?”

  “No one will recognize this smell. It’s new to me, and I know everyone that comes in and out of our doors.”

  “Okay.” I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his tone was a little feisty. After that standoff on the tarmac, I wasn’t sure what to think of him. He’s a little defensive.

  It might be the grief. I’ll have a word with him.

  Don’t. If anyone has an issue with me, it’s best if I handle it. At least for now. But still, I decided to keep my mouth shut for a little bit. I was too tired and didn’t want to make a wrong move.

  Our footsteps echoed down the long hallways. The longer we walked, the less I paid attention to my surroundings and the more I tried to count how many turns we were taking. This place was more expansive than any stronghold I’d been to. Some sections of the castle were newer than others, but the materials blended together seamlessly. It was only the changing smell—some parts had more of a dust and dirt smell to them even if they were clean—that tipped me off to the age difference.

  And then the smell changed again. The scent of dried blood and decaying flesh hit me, growing stronger with every step we took. I fought hard against the instinct to plug my nose. After what felt like forever and an endless maze of stairwells and hallways, Ian stopped at a large wooden door. The black iron handle hung limply, barely able to do its job.

  “It’s bad in here,” Ian said. “You should prepare yourself.”

  Donovan waved Ian aside. “It would have to be. John wouldn’t go down without a hell of a fight.”

  I couldn’t help but gag as he opened the door. “Good Lord. Can we open a window?”

  “It would contaminate the scene,” Ian said. “We’ve left everything closed off.”

  “Right.” But who could think about the scene when it smelled this bad? I breathed through my mouth, but that only made me taste the scent, which was worse. So much worse.

  I switched to small shallow breaths through my nose as I stepped into the room.

  It was more horrible than anything I’d seen. After the chapel in Santa Fe, I would’ve thought that was impossible.

  Apparently not.

  Gore was splattered across the room. I tried to find John’s body until I realized there wasn’t one. It was like Donovan’s second had been put through a blender just enough to liquefy bits and pieces of him, leaving chunks lying about. The biggest piece was his left foot, which was thrown in the middle of the bed. Its toes were missing, but part of the leg was still attached.

  I swallowed down bile, trying to focus on the overall look of the room instead of the gore. It was furnished with dark wood antiques and rich colors like the rest of the castle. The four-poster bed took up most of the room, with a small nightstand on either side. Heavy embroidered curtains hung open on either side of the window opposite the bed. A small writing desk and chair stood in one corner of in the room, with a landline and papers that might’ve once been orderly, but were now scattered over the desk and floor. The armoire had been knocked over and broken against the wall, vomiting clothes all over the floor.

  As soon as I thought the word vomit, the queasiness came back. I tried to refocus. The room was a mess, but the windows were closed and locked from the inside, and the destruction seemed confined to just this space.

  What could do this to a Were? I’d never heard of anything that could turn a werewolf into hamburger…

  Maybe a demon could, but if it were a demon, I would’ve smelled the sulfur. That smell was definitely strong enough to stick out, even among all of the gore.

  Vivian had said she thought it was fey, and they usually scented floral. I wasn’t smelling anything floral here, but just because I couldn’t smell it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there. The gore in the room could overpower floral for sure.

  And if it really were a fey, then it had to be one of the creature types. A lot of supernaturals liked to forget that not all the fey looked as pretty as Cosette and Van. The truth was that there were all kinds of fey. Beautiful little pixies with sharp teeth, ugly goblins with green skin, and others that were purely the stuff of nightmares. The last were only whispered about because no one wanted to chance naming them. They might show up when called.

  “Can you smell the fey through all of this?” I asked Ian and Donovan.

  “Yes. You can smell the scent if you sort out all the rest,” Ian said.

  Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. I took a bigger whiff through my nose and gagged. All I could smell was blood, dead flesh, bile, and excrement. Sorting through that? No. Not happening. Ian was crazy. If I wasn’t worried about looking tough in front of someone I didn’t know very well, I would’ve pulled my shirt over my nose.

  Donovan hunkered down near a pile of mushy flesh and took a big inhale.

  Oh, Christ. I almost gagged for him.

  “It’s not one I know.” He looked up at Ian. “You’re sure you’ve not scented this one before?”

  “No. Since the Americans made their little debut, we’d not seen nor heard from any of the courts, even the Lunar. They’ve kept their distance.”

  Something about this didn’t sit right with me. There was no way a creature fey could come through the stronghold without notice, and kill the second strongest in the pack. The way here was so convoluted, I had no clue
how to get back to the front entrance. The creature would have to make it through the castle, not running into a soul, before finding John—the wolf whose death would destabilize the pack the most. And that didn’t take into account how hard it must’ve been to actually kill John.

  Or maybe this thing was just that bad?

  But I couldn’t get over how this fey monster—whatever it was—had found John without anyone in the pack seeing or hearing anything.

  Even with Van’s handy-dandy teleportation powers, killing John like this—turning a second, and not just any second, but Donovan’s second to bits and mush—would’ve taken time and caused a whole lot of noise. So this thing had to have had inside help. That thought turned my blood to ice.

  I didn’t want my theory to be true, and honestly my first thought went to Vivian, but I didn’t know the pack well enough to make that assessment. It was my own bias making me want to point the finger at her.

  I ran my hands down my face as I tried to think of what we did know, which wasn’t much.

  “The fey are in the process of closing their underhills,” Donovan said as he rose from the ground. “Maybe in the confusion of closing the Irish hill, something escaped?”

  “Or maybe something was let out,” I said. I switched to using our bond, not wanting Ian to overhear the rest. But that would mean it was an act of war.

  That’s what I’m afraid of. And I find it pretty interesting that Cosette manipulated a meeting with you just before my second was killed. It’s as if she knew this was going to happen.

  Cosette had seemed like she knew something was coming, but Donovan was getting it all wrong. She’d been warning me about the pack. Not the fey. And I was the one who’d invited her to the mall, not the other way around.

  Something that kills like this isn’t going to be satisfied with just one, I said.

  Aye. We need to find out what happened before it kills again.

  Which meant I needed to do some research to get info on our enemy. Most packs kept a library with records of all the monsters its hunters had run into over the years. The Irish pack had to have a huge database by now.